


Something Like Hope

by broadwanime



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broadwanime/pseuds/broadwanime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was on the last week of summer vacation when she heard the knuckles rattle her window. Once, twice, insistent.  </p><p>“No, Scott,” Stiles murmured, knowing he could hear her. “Not tonight.”  </p><p>The window rattled once more, and Stiles turned over on her bed to glare at her moronic best friend who couldn’t take a fucking HINT - </p><p>Oh. That wasn’t Scott.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Like Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Stoyd Week 2.0 for the prompt: cry me a river.

Ever since she was five years old, Stiles had sworn she would never need rescuing. She would never be the damsel in distress, the maiden locked up high in the tower. She would always be the heroic princess come to save the day, or come to save Scott as the case may be. Her best friend frequently needed rescuing back in the day.

It wasn’t that she thought princesses were horrid or anything like that, not even from the tender age of five. She just thought that the job of the princes was so much cooler. Look at Prince Philip go, taking his sword of truth and stabbing the dragon straight through the heart, and then he got to kiss the princess.

_(Yeah, she had her sexuality pretty much down pat at five. If they were pretty, she wanted to kiss ‘em. That was the end of the story.)_

She’d sworn she wasn’t going to be vulnerable - not when she lost her mother, not when Scott got bitten by a freaking werewolf, not when half of her class were creatures that go bump in the night. Stiles wasn’t going to be weak.

And then Gerard happened.

He hadn’t cared that she was a teenager or a girl or a fucking human being, only that she was clearly the missing piece to get to Scott. Because it was always about Scott in the end, wasn’t it? At the end of the wire, he was the hero and she was - God. She wasn’t freaking Batman. She was Batgirl, and here came the Joker to beat her to a bloody pulp. She’d had her chance to be a hero, and the universe decided she did better as a pile of near broken bones and bloodied bruises. And even as her body ached and she couldn’t close her eyes without seeing Gerard’s sneer - she knew down in her soul that she deserved it. She couldn’t save Boyd, or Erica, or Lydia. She couldn’t even save herself.

She told Scott she was fine - not in person, of course. She didn’t need that werewolf nose smelling out her lies _(though he could probably hear it over the phone anyway, the hitches in her breath and the tell-tale pounding of her heartbeat)_. She mostly spent her time in her room, trying to remember how to be Stiles again, and not a mess of scrapes and hurts that no one could be bothered with. She saw Scott when she had to, tried to be a best friend, but it was hard when she wasn’t sure she deserved it. When she was certain in her brittle bones that Scott didn’t deserve the likes of her.

She bent her head down to her knees and whimpered.

It was on the last week of summer vacation when she heard the knuckles rattle her window. Once, twice, insistent.

“No, Scott,” Stiles murmured, knowing he could hear her. “Not tonight.”

The window rattled once more, and Stiles turned over on her bed to glare at her moronic best friend who couldn’t take a fucking HINT -

Oh. That wasn’t Scott.

That was Boyd, beautiful, broken Boyd, barely able to support herself on the roof, hair matted to her forehead and lips painted with blood. She smiled a little when she saw Stiles, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and shit, oh Jesus Christ on a crutch.

Stiles helped her in without a second thought, grabs a ratty washcloth from under the sink and starts cleaning Boyd’s wounds. She murmured nonsense as she coaxed the red off Boyd’s skin, strung words together to cover the sharp winces and flashes of gold. Stiles had to actually bandage the wounds, Boyd so torn to shreds that her werewolf healing had been decidedly delayed. Stiles tried not to stare at the deep cuts, tried to focus on Boyd’s whispers of an Alpha Pack. They ripped her apart and put her together and slashed her to pieces again, over and over and over. Boyd couldn’t remember getting out, couldn’t remember what they’d done to Erica. She growled and tightened her fists in her jeans. Stiles didn’t think, just set her hand on Boyd’s shoulder and squeezed. They weren’t actually friends, but - But.

Maybe she imagined it, but she thought Boyd might have leaned into the touch, just a little.

Stiles ended up throwing the washcloth away, so bloodstained that she wasn’t sure even bleach could salvage it. She could have said the same for her hands. She’d scrubbed her skin raw, and still she found copper under her fingernails _(but maybe that was just her guilt - out, out, damn spot)_.

When she came back to the room, she found Boyd sitting at the edge of her bed, hunched in on herself and fists still coiled too tight on her knees. The bandages on her ribs were tattered and splotched red, blood still seeping through the fabric. Fucking hell.Stiles swallowed thickly and worked her way across the room, sat gingerly on her bed at Boyd’s side. She didn’t know how long they sat there in the quiet, listening to each other’s harsh breath.

Finally, Stiles cleared her throat. “So, she murmured. “It’s not that I’m not glad you’re alive and all, because I am, holy cheese whiz am I glad you’re here and you’re not - “ She swallowed. “I just, uh… I don’t know why you would - Why, why come here? Why not go to, I don’t know, Derek, or Scott, even? Why me?"

Boyd stared down at the carpet. She was probably regretting it now, god, why had Stiles said anything. “Sorry, fuck, you’re like in literal pieces right now and I shouldn’t have - Just forget I said anything, you should - I - “

“Because Erica’s right,” Boyd said quietly. She lifted her head, let her dark eyes meet Stiles’ bright ones and it made something in Stiles’ chest squeeze. “You really are Batman.”

And Stiles stared at her and Boyd stared right back. Stiles swallowed, tried to form words (but what if you’re wrong, what if you’re right, what have you done to me) and she wasn’t the one that’s bloodied and beaten so why was she choking on a sob. Boyd lifted her to cup Stiles’ cheek, her thumb rubbing back and forth across Stiles’ cheekbone. And Stiles - Stiles couldn’t.

They fell asleep with their legs tangled in the bedsheets, their foreheads pressed together and something like hope breathing anew in their chests.


End file.
